


Feigra Manna

by spaceleviathan



Series: Ragnarok [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceleviathan/pseuds/spaceleviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feigra Manna: Of Doomed Men</p><p>Odin wakes from his Odinsleep to find chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feigra Manna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clockworkclown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkclown/gifts).



> Clockworkclown and I managed to fall into accidental role-play, and so help me I’m feeling murderous because of it.

Odin woke to pandemonium. Chaos. Screaming and crying and running. He already knew who was to blame.

He had been repeatedly attempting to keep himself from the Odinsleep, wary of the threats and warnings of the coming future. The end of the coming future. He knew that in his head the longer he put it off ultimately meant that devastation would fall upon them all the harder as he was giving the harbinger all the more time to plan, but his heart refused to co-operate, to see sense. His instincts told him that, given enough time, this would all come to pass.

And it _was_ coming to pass. It had just been waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The Odinsleep. He was finally forced to give in.

His recuperation had been cut short however, as the last one had been. He had been forced awake when the situation fled from his son’s hands, from the control of his wife, from the rationality of his people. As soon as his skies and seas had been breached and his realm attacked, he had to wake and intervene.

The palace was empty, the hallways eerie for their quiet, the only noise echoes from the outside world where women and children and men fought for their lives, clashing swords and axes, shrieking in pain and terror. It was a sound unusual to Odin, something he hadn’t heard in many long centuries. It felt as if he had merely fallen into a bad dream.

But he was awake. He knew this for certain as he exited the gates, stepped towards the steps with Gungnir in hand and his helm securely atop his head. Some of his people saw him, yelled out in glee as if this meant triumph, but many more were too engaged in a battle for their skins to spare a moment and see his golden armour glitter under the weak morning sun.

To his left there was a great wolf circling families, seemingly impervious to their weapons as he continued his dangerous prowl. He bled like any beast, but shook pain from his hide as if it were a mere irritation. He swiped at them with a giant paw, claws bared and glinting blood. Bodies instantly started dropping.

In the distance a serpent, larger than the wolf and ringing itself around Asgard twice, spat and hissed and caved everyone in. No one was able to escape as it flexed its huge body, herded them all in. If it was allowed to continue, it would not have to so much as drip poison on anyone – it would simply lead the people of Asgard to suffocate, crush one another, die in a stampede. Clever, nasty snake.

They were both monsters Odin had tried to keep his child from – creatures which were better off isolated, scared and kept from those they could hurt. Those like their father. They were mindless beasts who would sooner tear apart their naïve, loving sire than look to him twice. Unless, of course, he was the same as them. Blood spoke louder than kisses in those twisted, animalistic minds. They looked to him now.

Draugr swarmed the people, refusing to drop as they were cut through with blades, but einherjar clashed swords and proved equally as tenacious as they returned from the heavens to fight for the glory of Asgard.

They were losing.

Odin watched, heavy with heart and hollow with disappointment as his fears played out before him. The wolf took the time to sniff the air, rounding upon Odin with stance low and jaw dripping with the meat and fluids of the people he had torn open.

This didn’t bother Odin. He did not even move as his attention swayed from the steady approach of the giant wolf to the rest of the battle field.

His son, his beautiful, powerful boy, was taking determined steps towards the serpent. His hammer was stained red, he sparked with his power and his chest heaved with his might. The snake drew back his head and surveyed him, watched him carefully, allowed him to draw close before starting any attack. Odin looked away before he could see the downfall of a titan.

Týr was screaming in his battle-haze, leading the warriors into their battles, slashing and cutting through all who would dare oppose him. He kept on glancing to the Fenrisúlfr, eager and angry, but he couldn’t find the chance to split through and rescue his king. And his king would likely need to be rescued, since he felt as if he would not be capable of cutting through the daze of watching his kingdom fall in enough time to save himself from a grizzly fate.

People were dying. For many of them, this was not the first time. For all of them, it would be the last.

And in the centre of it stood a lone figure, high upon a pile of the freshly slain, observing as Odin did  the mayhem which had descended so quickly upon Asgard. He did not catch the All-Father’s eye. He did not even see him, nor recognise his presence. Instead he put his weight on the fallen figure of the Gatekeeper, threw back his helmless head and laughed. Oh, how he laughed.

Odin could see the bright stain of a weeping wound drawn down upon one side, along with how the man stooped over himself. He was a mess, red with blood from himself and from others, armour half-gone and clothes torn with evidence of his struggles. His hair was plastered to his face, wet with gore and obscuring his vision. He was in pain, he was even dying, but it did not faze him. His laugh was bright and true. It cut through the screams and the pleas for mercy and the sobs of the soon-to-be dead.

It was evil, maniacal, and real. To the harbinger, this nightmare was naught but a dream come true.

Odin knew that his people would win, but this was a bitter victory. The world would be saved, but with no one along with it.

Loki had warned him, once.

 _You will lose more than you are willing to sacrifice_ , he had said. Odin had heard him, but he had not listened. He had been so convinced that his son would see himself through to a better place, as Thor had done when his was the lesson which needed to be taught. He had not considered that maybe Loki would not succeed in vanquishing his demons. He had not thought that perhaps his son was not strong enough. Perhaps he had pushed him too far.

The laughter finally died, but only because the source had finally spotted the All-Father standing stiff and paralysed at the entrance to the palace. Somehow, even above the clamour of the battlefield, his voice, light and mischievous and free, eased over with the winds and found itself tauntingly spinning around Odin’s head.

“I changed, All-Father!” He exclaimed, throwing open his arms and smiling with bloody teeth. “I _changed_! I thought that was what you wanted! Oh, was this not what you had in mind? Perhaps you should have been more specific.” And the laughter resumed, wet with blood and desperate with agony, but clear as a bell and reaching high to the heavens. Demented and unsettling, it rose up, rang out, and pervaded every last dying thought.

A dark shadow came to dominate Odin’s left, growing lowly. It would have been large and terrifying to any other being, but Odin was not all present at this time, having cast his gaze upon the entirety of his world, wishing to be with each of his citizens as every loved one died and was cast into nothingness. Somewhere he too would find himself very soon.

He watched his golden-haired son come to clash with a snake, whilst the dark-haired brother laughed and laughed and laughed. His amusement had teetered off into hysteria as he watched the realm paint itself red with the innards of his once-kin, and that, perhaps, was the least he deserved.

And then the gaping jaws of death descended down upon him and he knew no more. For that, Odin Borrson, grandson of Búri and father of Thor, Loki and Baldr, was thankful. 

**Author's Note:**

> :| When role-playing Loki opposite an Odin, I totally get why he would want to massacre every single person in the realm. Ugh.


End file.
